Psych 30
by screaming-poetically
Summary: Collection of stories I'm writing for challenge community on LJ featuring, of course, FlackLindsay. Chapter count will eventually be 30.
1. 14 Fixation

Title: Curve of the Earth  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
Prompt: #14, Fixation  
Word Count: 336  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Written for a challenge community on Livejournal, psych30.

**Curve of the Earth**

The first thing that strikes Flack when he sees the new CSI is her smile. It makes him forget for a moment everything that he's seen on the job, and everything that's come along with it. He forgets Gavin and the dead baby they found the other day, he forgets Danny and the Tanglewood gang. If he's honest with himself, he knows that if it came down to it that smile could make him forget the curve of the earth. Something Flack has to say about Lindsay's smile is that she means it, and when she says her first words to him it is, of course, with a smile.

"I'm Lindsay Monroe, the new CSI here. Sure is hot in the city."

Flack shakes the hand she's offered and it's soft, a woman's hand, and he's struck by how perfectly it fits in his own. He offers a smile and drops Lindsay's hand as quick as possible with out being rude.

"Yeah. Hot."

But then he remembers why she's there—Aiden's gone, she's Aiden's replacement—and Flack makes a decision to stop thinking about the new girl. It doesn't matter that she makes him lose all coherent thought with just a curve of her lips. None of that matters.

From then on, though, he fixates on her smile, whether he means to or not. If he has a bad day, he closes his eyes and remembers; it makes it better for a while, shutting out the dark with light. If he's drunk, it's worse. Flack will see the smile on any girl he's with and when he wakes up in the morning and she doesn't have that smile he ushers her out of his apartment. He tells himself, when he does recognize his fixation, that it's okay.

Flack needs something to keep him grounded, to remind him of what is out there to fight for. And he guesses if a simple smile is all it takes for him to regain hope, then he'll hold onto it.


	2. 18 Instinct

Title: Grace  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe; various others  
Prompt: #18, Instinct  
Word Count: 1,285  
Spoilers: "Charge of This Post."  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Written for a challenge community on Livejournal.

**Grace**

It's instinct to Lindsay to smile at Don when she comes to a scene. It's become a simple habit, the smiles. They don't talk much, her and Don, so she feels that a smile is all she can offer that will mean something. And when she's clueless about the block parties—and she really is, she's never seen anything like it—Don grins and teases her, saying, "Where do they have parties in Montana?"

Lindsay smiles back at him, taking his words well, and answers, "Wyoming."

She's glad to see _his_ smile, quick and lingering all in the same moment as he looks at her, blue eyes lit up with mirth. It's something she'll hold onto for the rest of the day, his eyes and his smile and just _him_.

Lindsay hasn't even begun to process the body when Mac calls from upstairs, saying there's a bomb, get out, show your shield get the people out of there. And she does; she leaves her case and the DB and pushes the people back. She tells them to run down the street—no, not that way, the other way, it isn't safe—and finally she turns back to the building. They haven't come out yet, she realizes. Mac isn't beside her calling Stella or Danny; Don isn't out, oh god _Don_, and even though she's a CSI and a cop all at once, even though she knows what bombs can do she can't bring herself to fathom what could happen to either of them in that building.

It's instinct to feel like she can't breathe when she thinks of Don in that building. And when it blows and Lindsay falls back, when debris and dust and brick falls around the street, all she can think of is if he's okay. She knows she's hurt but all she can feel is Don.

When the authorities arrive—Department of Homeland Security, NYPD, FBI, and the CSI team—Lindsay's still trying to call Mac's cellphone. He won't pick up but she keeps trying. She needs to know if everything will be okay, if Don and Mac and everyone will be okay. Stella comes up to her and asks if she's heard anything and she shakes her head, gesturing vaguely towards the ruined building.

"It just keeps ringing," Lindsay says.

Danny asks if she's okay and he's so transparent—she can see into his blue eyes, into his _soul_—what he's really asking is if Lindsay will be okay with him. If they'll be okay together. She shakes her head, talks about Mac, about Don, and Danny accepts—he says he'll look.

And when they finally find Mac and Don, when she sees Don come out of the wreckage on a stretcher, when she sees his abdomen—oh god, that wound—she feels like she's drowning. All she can see is the red, the blood, the torn flesh and Lindsay can't help but think, if only it were me.

She goes to visit Don in the hospital with Danny and when Mac says, "We don't all _have_ to stay," Danny takes it literally and asks her if she still wants that ride he offered earlier. She looks into the room where Don lies still and bandaged in the bed, and then looks back to Danny. The ride to her apartment is silent, albeit filled with awkward mini-conversations that he started (about wheatfields, about the zoo, about anything really) and she wishes he'd be quiet. Lindsay's head is filled with Don.

When they reach her door she can tell that he wants something more so she invites him inside, telling him that back in Montana they taught a girl how to make dinner right. Once inside the world seems to shut off and the atmosphere eases up, and she can laugh again. Danny can grin and call her Montana (only he doesn't, he calls her Lindsay), he can tell her about growing up in Brooklyn, about Louie, and it's okay. In here they can't be touched. And while she's enjoying her time with Danny—and she is, he's a good friend—inside all she wants is for him to just _leave_.

He moves to kiss her once, as he is leaving. She puts her hand on his chest and looks away, looks back.

"Danny, I can't."

"I'm sorry," he says, "it was a mistake. I shouldn't have…Lindsay, I—"

"No, Danny. Don't," Lindsay says, smoothing the lapel on his jacket.

"Don't apologize," she continues. "I just don't know what I want, and I don't want to pretend to something I don't feel if…I just don't want to hurt you, you know?"

She's lying, but Danny doesn't notice; she knows what she wants, it's just not him.

He nods and brushes a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek for a moment. She can see into his soul again—and now she hates that saying, 'the eyes are the window to the soul' and how it applies to Danny—and she knows that he loves her, in no small part. He's broken and Lindsay wishes she could fix him without breaking herself. As soon as he leaves Lindsay does too; she takes a cab back to the hospital to see Don.

Mac's just leaving with Stella and they say quiet hellos and goodbyes. They don't ask what Lindsay is doing there so late—it's almost midnight—and besides, she thinks that maybe they already know. Certainly Stella does, she's the kind that catches on quick. And Mac, he may be dense at times but he's crafty. Lindsay's glad that she came to the city, glad that she has met the both of them. Glad for all of this, meeting her new family—for she _has_ come to consider the CSIs her family—and for making herself a home here.

When she enters Don's room the first thing she hears is the constant pulse of the monitors, and she tries to catch hold of herself. What's worse is when she catches her first true sight of Don since earlier, when he came out of the building, broken and bleeding. She feels like she's dying, like him being hurt is tearing her apart as well. It aches, seeing the tiny cuts on his face, seeing the green mechanical pulse, seeing him nonresponsive. Lindsay goes to his bedside, sits down in the one chair after bringing as close as possible, and runs her hand through his hair.

"Don? It's Lindsay. Please…I just, I don't know."

She took his hand.

"They say you're not out of the woods yet, and I just need to tell you…Not just for you, but for me as well. For my own peace of mind. You can't die on me Don, okay? You have to fight this, you have…You have to make it through, Don. I need you, I need you with me. I love you and… I don't know what I'd do if you weren't around. Maybe it's instinct but I can't help it—"

She felt his hand squeeze hers and a tiny sob escaped her.

"Oh, Don."

Lindsay stayed through the night and morning with Don, talking about Montana. She tells him about what she's seen of the city and what she wants to see (what she wants him to show her, if she's honest, and she is, with him and with herself.) She tells him about Danny and love and not wanting to hurt anyone. Then she tells him about her past and it's okay cause she knows he's listening.

Just before she falls asleep, still holding his hand, she whispers,

"We'll be okay, Don. I think everything will be okay."


	3. 3 Addiction

Title: Sweet Misery  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe; Danny Messer  
Prompt: #3, Addiction  
Word Count: 1,236  
Spoilers: "Charge of This Post."  
Warnings: Character death, language, smut.  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Written for a challenge community on Livejournal.

**Sweet Misery**

i.

The first time Lindsay came to Danny she was drunk. Very, very drunk. She knocked on his door at half past midnight, swaying and licking her lips sensually. He didn't think she knew she was doing that. When she saw Danny she giggled helplessly and rested her hand on his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

"Danny," she said seriously, "I am soooo drunk."

"Yeah, yeah. You're wasted as fuck. C'mon in."

And so he helps her inside, removes her jacket and shoes and settles her on a stool in his kitchen. She studies him, still licking her lips periodically; he begins to think maybe it's a habit of hers.

Lindsay laughs again and said, "Danny, I lied."

He came closer to her, so close that he can smell her shampoo—something flowery, predictably Lindsay—and asks her, "'Bout what, Montana?"

She got up, still unsteady from the alcohol coursing through her system; she was pressed close against him now, and he heard her whisper, "I'm not…okay."

And then he remembers their earlier conversation in the locker room, about Don and the bombing and nightmares and death; about loss and how he's there for her, always. And he remembers what went unsaid, too, about how he loves her and he knows that he'll never be enough but please remember, Lindsay, I'll wait for you.

She leans up until it's stupid not to kiss her. Danny kisses her hard, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth. And when her lips part, he can taste the alcohol in her mouth and he knows this isn't real—that Lindsay's drunk and she needs to forget for a while—but he wants her. He doesn't know how long they stay there but after they part both he and Lindsay gasp for breath.

"Fuck," he swears as she shifts her hips against his and licks her lips again.

Danny's hands are resting on her hips and his glasses are askew; he's pretty much lost all coherent thought at this point, and can only think in terms of bedroom, Lindsay, clothes off right _now_. They're lying entwined in his bed, his hands roaming over her flesh, her nails scoring down his back. Lindsay bites gently and then fiercely at his neck as he moves within her and he rests his forehead against hers, his eyes fluttering closed.

Danny cries out his release against the curve of her neck, and when he moves to kiss her he sees the tears on her cheeks. He's worried that he's done something wrong, that somehow he's hurt her.

"I'm sorry Danny, I'm so sorry," she sobs.

And then she's saying someone else's name—"Don, oh Don, why'd you leave me, baby…"

That's when Danny realizes even more so that she wasn't seeing him. Not at all. He holds her, rocks her. And even though Danny knows, he doesn't care. He can't compete with a dead man. But he loves Lindsay—truly, madly, deeply—and he's addicted now.

ii.

The day Don died was terrible. He made it out of surgery fine, Danny remembers, and all the CSIs were there, watching over him. Hawkes was talking to the neurosurgeon again, about Flack's brain activity and how the recovery went. Mac and Stella were talking quietly in the chairs placed on the opposite wall, probably about the '83 bombing in Beirut that had Mac quite obviously upset. Lindsay was in the room with Don, talking with him.

He didn't know quite how it happened—he still doesn't—but all of a sudden the monitors flatline and Lindsay's screaming and the doctors can't revive him. He's gone, he tries telling Lindsay. Don's gone and he's not coming back.

"A few hours ago he was kissing me, telling me that he loves me and now he's dead. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard, Danny?" she says, tears falling down her cheeks.

Danny brushes them away with his thumb, pulls her into his embrace. She's crying silently, and he remembers wondering how long it took for Lindsay to learn to cry like that.

iii.

Her hands are urgent, her mouth hot on Danny's; Lindsay's hands explore his flesh, pushing his shirt back and rolling her hips against his. He eases himself deep inside her, eyes darkening ostensibly with pleasure. He vows his love again and again against her skin, soft murmurs and fierce whispers; still she cries out Flack's name, but even so, he feels no ill will.

She moves to leave, reaching for her clothes that lie scattered across his bedroom floor. Danny wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her gently back to him.

"Please…just stay."

Lindsay looks at him, her eyes open and deep. Danny knows that these nights with her are supposed to be no strings attached, she's trying to fuck away the memories of Don and all her sorrow but he fucking _loves_ her.

"Sorry. I shouldn'ta asked."

She never lets Danny kiss her neck, and he knows that when she calls out Flack's name it's because she's in love with a dead man. Lindsay is walking with a ghost, she's broken and oh god he wishes he could fix her. Danny knows why Lindsay doesn't stay the night and even though he knows, he doesn't care. And that's suicide. By tiny, tiny increments.

"Goodnight, Don," she says to him.

There it is, the sharp ache behind his heart.

"'Night, Montana."

Goodnight to his sweet misery.

iv.

One night she does stay with Danny and she wakes up four times with nightmares; he holds her, telling her it's okay, Lindsay it will be okay I'm here, don't worry.

"Danny…why do you do this?"

It's the first time she's called him by his name when they're together like this and he figures maybe he's made a breakthrough.

"Because I'm addicted to you. Now sleep, Lindsay. I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

And she nuzzles his neck as she curls close to him, resting her hand on his chest. Danny tries to ignore the contentment he feels, but he can't; he tries to ignore how full his heart is just lying in bed with Lindsay, but he really can't. He's in love with her, so he whispers it all to her while she sleeps.

"I know I'm not Don, and I never will be, but I love you. I'd give you all of me," he says, "heart, body and soul. I'd never hurt you and I'd never leave you. And Lindsay, you have to know, I'll never stop loving you."

Lindsay had no more nightmares that night but in the morning she asks him to take her to the cemetery to see Don. It stung but since he'd do anything for her he does. Danny waits by a mausoleum, patiently but watching over her carefully as she talks to the gravestone in the grey sky morning.

She walks up to him about forty-five minutes later, and links her arm through his.

"So, how'd it go?"

"I was saying goodbye," she replies evenly.

And Danny knows that maybe now he has a chance. He'll never have her full heart, of course, because the larger part of her heart will always love Don more than she could ever love him; Lindsay said once, "The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back."


	4. 30 Denial

Title: Again and Again  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
Prompt: #30, Denial  
Word Count: 1,242  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: My fandom has BadTie!porn. Written for a challenge community on Livejournal.

**Again and Again**

"_There is no giving in, there is no giving up, in love."  
-Jewel_

I tell myself that I don't love her, and it's not that hard because I don't have anyone telling me otherwise. It's not like I haven't told anyone about my feelings for Lindsay—I told Danny, because he's my best friend, and Stella because she's a woman and she always knows what to do—but neither of them really offered me the kind of advice I needed. I needed to know what love was and they couldn't really define it; so now I tell myself I'm not in love with Lindsay and it's easy, because she doesn't know and my feelings for her are uncategorized.

She's beautiful, I can't deny it. But she's not for me. She's a country girl, I'm a city boy. She loves wheatfields (what's to see?), the wild horses, the open sky; I love the concrete and the skyscrapers and…We're just too different. She has a nice smile. I like what it does to me. It makes it hard for me to breathe cause all I can do is concentrate on her. On second thought, it's a horrible smile. Lindsay is far too distracting.

Did you know that her hair falls a different way each day? And that she furrows her brow and bites her lip when she's concentrating? I know those things because I lo—No. I don't love her. That's a stupid idea, anyways. I wonder who came up with love. Love is selfless. You want more for the other person than you do for yourself; I know this much from seeing a selfish kind of love between my mother and father, and I also know that I never want to be like that. If I ever fall in love with someone, a country girl for instance—no, not those, I could never fall for a country girl—I wouldn't just lend, I'd give.

There was the annual NYPD Christmas Ball a month or so ago. Mac's CSI team was required to attend, and Lindsay asked kindly that I go. And I did, simply because she asked me to; I hate black-tie events and I hate dancing and I hate hanging around with a bunch of cops who think they know me because they've heard of my dad. But I like her. She was beautiful, too. She had on this wonderful black cocktail dress and it just accentuated all her features, in all the right places. I told her she looked good—stupid, stupid, way to go Flack, real smooth—and she smiled up at me, asked me to dance.

And so we danced and in those moments I felt the most complete I've ever felt. I forgot about death and arrests and the ones that got away. I forgot about my father and all the problems we've had. I forgot about Gavin. I forgot about Aiden and the circumstances surrounding her absence from the lab. I forgot a lot of things; everything, that is, except Lindsay and my arms around her, her head resting just below my right shoulder. I really was a bit taller than her; she must've realized what I was thinking, then, because she said, "I like it this way."

I did too.

But, you know, that has no real bearing on whether or not I love her. Because I don't. Totally not in love with Lindsay Monroe here. I just happen to appreciate good looking women. Beautiful, intelligent, wonderful, legs up to there, women. Women who like thai food and vodka and taking long car rides. Women who don't mind calling a date pizza and a movie at my place. Women who like wheatfields. Fuck. You know, lots of women like wheatfields. In fact, I'm sure if someone went out and surveyed the crowd amassing in Times Square, you'd find at least, well…You'd find a lot.

I got her flowers once. They were sunflowers. I remember Lindsay saying they were her favorite, so I got them for her on a whim. Danny, Stella, and Hawkes (Mac, too, though he won't admit it) were guessing all day who they were from. Only Lindsay and I knew. Can't say it didn't boost my ego to know that it was me, and me alone, who made her smile like that. I wouldn't mind being the only one to make her smile that way each day. Of course, you know, I think anyone would feel that way. Making someone smile is a powerful thing, and buying someone flowers isn't that special.

There was this one time where she made fun of my tie, too. There was actually more than one time, but who counts, really? I don't, not when she can make me grin even when she's poking fun at me.

"Swell tie, Flack," she said. "Did you dress in the dark, or something?"

I grinned, offered her a hand as she stepped up onto the platform where the victim was. Her hand fit perfectly in mine.

"I only wore it so you'd notice, Monroe. Looks like my plan worked."

Lindsay gave a dramatic eyeroll that on anyone else would have looked undeniably lame but on her, it looked very attractive. So what, I bet visual sarcasm is a turn-on for some people. I'm not the only one. At least I'm not one of those weirdos that likes to use animals or something. I remember Danny telling me something once, about a case he and Aiden worked—it was about bondage. Yeah. I'm not like that. Visual sarcasm, when you look at it in the long run, isn't that big of a deal.

From that moment on, I did wear bad ties on purpose. But only sometimes, so she'd notice and say something, smile at me a little bit. I think maybe she caught on because one day I had worn a tie my mom got me (man, that thing was horrendous) and Lindsay turned her head slightly, considering me. She got that look on her face, like she didn't know what to think. So I just walked away, over to good ol' Mrs. Speedman (blind as a bat, bless her soul) who gave us a detailed description of the perpetrator.

She never said anything to me about my ties after that (she still doesn't) so I guess she must've caught on. It's not that I mind, I mean, it wasn't really that important that she noticed anyways. They're just ties, and she's just Lindsay Monroe. I don't really care about her. She's pretty and she's smart, but she's just a country girl. Lindsay doesn't know anything about life in the city, she doesn't know _me_. But I don't give her a chance, but I don't see why I should, she's Aiden's replacement. It's true that Aiden won't let up about me loving her (which I don't) and it's true that Aiden says I should give "that new girl from Montana" a chance. Aiden doesn't know what she's talking about.

I don't love Lindsay. I swear to God I don't.

Besides, even if I do love her, Danny started it. He's the one that said, "Hey, Flack, check out the new girl, she's just your type." Danny's the one who liked her first. He's also the one who told me to just forget the whole thing, which only made me think about it more. What a jerk. So, I guess what I'm saying is, it's not my fault if I love her (which I don't.)

_finis._


	5. 22 Libido

Title: John Lennon and Yoko Ono Staged A Protest  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
Prompt: #22, Libido  
Word Count: 981  
Rating: T  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Okay I kind of love FM Radio but my muse is running out steam. :(

**John Lennon and Yoko Ono Staged A Protest**

Flack pulled himself closer to Lindsay and to be honest he didn't know why he was doing this. She had been in New York for over a year and he hardly knew her. All he knew was that she was from Montana, she liked her tea green and flavored with lemon, and she preferred sunrises to sunsets. He tangled his hands in her hair and bit lightly down on her collarbone, pressed soft kisses trailing upward to her mouth. Flack knows this is wrong, he feels like he's lost track of everything these days, even himself.

The lights are dim in his bedroom, and Flack knew the reason was that he liked looking at Lindsay. Not at a particular moment but just in general. There was something about her that just made it necessary for him to look. While she was sleeping, when she turned to him in bed and spoke, when she came, just…everything. He liked looking.

Lindsay pulled away gently and he made a soft sound of protest, but he stilled when she removed his tie (the one she had bought him for his birthday two weeks ago and the only decent one he has.) He reached to unbutton his shirt but she covered his hands with her own.

"No, Don. Let me."

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, trapping his arms behind his back. Lindsay kissed him then, kissed him with a wild abandon that he returned eagerly, shrugging his shoulders to remove the shirt. She drew away briefly to tug her own shirt over her head, to remove her shoes, to take off her pants.

Flack inhaled sharply. This relationship was new, barely two months old, yet the sight of her freshly disrobed still rent his thoughts asunder. Her bra and panties were white, cotton; perfectly sensible, just like her. She licked her lips sensually before quietly reminding him that it was his turn to do the same. He didn't mind really, but after he had removed the unnecessary clothing he realized that all the other times with Lindsay had been heated kisses and urgent hands and _clothesoffrightnow_. But this, this was different. This was slow and languid and he wants her.

He'd never tell Lindsay but he realized the second night in that he could never want anything else for tonight or the rest of his life except for her. But that's his secret.

Flack pressed open-mouth kisses on the soft skin of Lindsay's stomach as she lay beneath him on his bed, naked and oh god so beautiful. His hands traced the curve of her waist, and when he looked up to meet Lindsay's gaze her hand caressed his cheek and she sighed his name. He moved upward along her body until his mouth hovered above hers; it took everything in Flack to not just let his lips meet hers but he really needed to tell her something. Maybe it's too soon but he felt it was something he had to do.

"Linds, I have to—"

She kissed him suddenly, taking advantage of his open mouth to slide her tongue smoothly inside. The kiss grew heated quickly, with both Flack and Lindsay yearning for dominance. After a moment they parted and she said softly, "Not now. Don't say it, not yet. I'm not ready."

He nodded a quick understanding before entwining their hands together and pressing them into the pillows. Lindsay arched against him and he eased himself inside her—_ohgodsogood_, can't think where was I, must've left me somewhere—and Flack realized that this was what he had wanted all along. Just hours spent lying in bed with Lindsay, the talking leading to touching and the touching leading to sex and the sex leading to love. Maybe Flack's already at that last step but she isn't; she's not ready but he'll wait.

When he woke up Lindsay was already awake, leaning on her elbow facing him, her free hand running through his hair. He had learned quickly that she had a thing for his hair. They stared at each other for a moment or two, not quite sure how last night had changed them.

"What are you thinking?" Lindsay asked finally.

"I'm thinking that I just had sex, again, with a girl that I barely know even though I've been working with her for over a year."

She smiled softly, her hand resting on the side of his face.

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Good morning to you too, Sigmund," Flack said, grinning smugly.

Lindsay rasied her eyebrow and waited.

"Aw, shit, Lindsay. I dunno. I guess it feels like freefalling through space. What are you thinking?"

She pulled herself closer to him, resting her head on his chest. He brushed a rogue lock of hair behind her ear as she began to speak. He loved her hair, he really did.

"I'm thinking that last night was different from all the other nights we've been together and I like it that way. I want to go with you," she said.

Flack frowned. He wasn't _planning_ on going anywhere. He hadn't planned a vacation or taken any time off, not since the whole mess with Gavin. He remembered when he had told Lindsay about Gavin and Hector and all of that shit, how fucked up it all was. She had just listened and she pulled him close and for the first time since it had all happened he cried. There was something about her that made him feel safe and he'd be damned if it wasn't just that she didn't expect anything of him.

"What do you mean, Linds? I'm not goin' anywhere."

"I mean if you were to go anywhere I'd go with you, Don," she said, "and it's not out of some very false sense of security. I just…would."

Flack kissed the top of her head and understood completely.


	6. 16 Fetish

Title: Why Ties Are A Country Girl's Best Friend  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
Prompt: #16, Fetish  
Word Count: 405  
Warnings: Vague smut.  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Haha Tie!Porn.

**Why Ties Are A Country Girl's Best Friend**

Lindsay smiled against the curve of Don's neck, and pressed a kiss to the skin there before sitting up on the bed and looking down on him.

"Well, that was interesting."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Possibly a catastrophe. In all fairness I did try to warn him."

Don laughed and reached for his lover. It wasn't much of a warning, he had to admit. But things like this—days spent living in the spirit of love—were the reason he had come to Lindsay in the first place. He pulled her down to him, and his tongue grazed her lips gently. His fingers traced the side of her face, and he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her even closer.

Lindsay's lips parted slightly, and his tongue entered her mouth, questing for something he knew not. Soon their tongues were in a seeming duel, fighting for dominance over the other. Lindsay sighed into his mouth and wrapped her arms around Don's neck, tangling one hand in his hair.

He moaned slightly as they parted and she squirmed in his arms, giggling softly.

"But the look on his face! I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Don traced lazy circles on the small of her back as Lindsay stilled, and grinned.

"I don't think he'll be forgetting it rather soon either. Walking in on one's tenants in the midst of their kinky sex is, I must say, a rather…odd experience."

She laughed again and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and leaned over him to reach over Don's side of the bed. He held her steady by gripping her waist gently as she rummaged around, and when she emerged triumpant, holding a certain item in her hand, he groaned. But this was why he loved her, he reminded himself. Because of moments like these.

Lindsay waved the tie in front of his face.

"Wanna go again, Detective?"

Don leaned up on his elbows and considered her, his head tilted slightly. Sometimes he wondered what on Earth he had gotten himself into. But those times were rare, and even then he was vastly grateful that it was he that had gotten hold of Lindsay.

"Sure thing, Monroe. But this time, it's you that's tied to the bed and not me, okay?"

Her smile curved suggestively as she leaned close to him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered her acquiescence.


	7. 2 Daddy Issues

Title: Satellite  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe; brief Gavin Moran  
Prompt: #2, Daddy Issues  
Word Count: 1,168  
Warnings: Mild language.  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: I love fanfiction, man.

**Satellite**

He thinks maybe he knew that he was in love with her the time they went to Massachusetts. They went down the Cape and he thanks God for Mac letting her take the weekend off. The beach was absolutely glorious and throughout the day they didn't swim much at all. At night, though, Lindsay curled into his side and Flack pointed to the sky.

"Look, Linds. It's the first star."

He could feel her turn her head to see, and then she said, "It's probably just a satellite."

And that's when he fell in love with her. As Flack thinks back on it now, he's sure of it. Satellite, save my life.

He remembers what his father used to say, how success has a thousand fathers but failure is an orphan. Fuck, his father used to say that all the time. And Flack used to worry all the fucking time whether today would be the day that he'd bring about that failure, that one little thing that would cause his father to look down at him and shake his head.

Flack never tells Lindsay when he does something wrong. The other day he forgot to call Stella like he said he would, and he won't tell Lindsay because all he can think about is "success has a thousand fathers" and inside he's thinking "I have just one."

Sour grapes make bitter wine. His mother used to say that. She'd always say that after he had another fight with his father, after he'd ask her why the fuck she was still with him when she knew about all the other women. Now, years later, Flack can only guess as to what that means. He guesses that maybe his mother was just saying that you have to try.

But where his father is concerned he can't. He can only think 'Good God is that going to be me in a few years?' And inside he hopes to hell it isn't. Danny tries to convince him sometimes that he's a good man, that he's something worth fighting for. But in the end it turns to Danny trying to convince himself, and Flack leaves him to it. What Flack has to worry about these days is Lindsay.

He wants to ask her to marry him.

She's beautiful and kind. Compassionate and sensible. She gets cold when it's 70 out. Her hair falls a different way each day, and it's the most wondrous thing he's ever seen. Not in a corny way, like some B-rated movie, but in a good way, like a man in love. And Lindsay knows everything about him, he can just talk to her and it's okay. Flack's never had that before and he knows he's not likely to come by it again—at least not in this lifetime.

He knows that his father met Lindsay one day. He doesn't really care but sometimes he wonders what Lindsay thinks of his father. Flack knows what he thinks and it's nothing good. He knows that he'd rather leave Lindsay than become his father and…well, and be _that_ to her. Spend the whole marriage chasing monsters instead of realizing what he has right in front of him.

Lindsay tells him one night three days into this new dilemma that she loves him and no matter what he thinks, she always will. She says she knows she's not what he's gone for in the past (and ain't that the truth, she's not blonde and leggy and brainless) but she'll never leave him, and she'll never hurt him. And what's more, Lindsay says, she'll never stop loving him.

The next day Flack calls Gavin and they meet in Sullivan's. It's a cop bar and he sort of feels bad for bringing Gavin there but it's the only place he could think of on such short notice. They haven't talked in months, something that's both their faults. Not since Hector and all of that fucked up shit, he can't—won't—remember.

When Gavin asks how his father is, he answers the way he always has: "Just about the same."

In truth he has no idea how his father is, having not talked to him in years; he's heard word around the station but Flack could really care less. It doesn't speak volumes about his morals or his family life (maybe it does, if he's honest with himself) but he never wants to be his father and the only way to keep that at distance is to keep his father at distance.

"Gavin, I don't know what the fuck to do. I wanna ask her to marry me but at the same time I've got my own issues to sort out."

His friend takes a long sip of his beer and considers Flack at length. A few moments pass before Gavin speaks.

"You're a good cop, Donny. Good man, too. And you ain't your father. You're more'n half the man your father ever could be. You got yourself a good woman here, from what I'm to understand, and I'm sure she knows the same."

Two months and a week to the day of meeting Gavin at Sullivan's finds Flack in a hospital bed, healing from being caught in an explosion. The hole in his abdomen is fine, there should be some scarring but at least he's fucking alive. A lot more than can be said about some of the other poor fucks caught in the building. Some of the people he didn't get out. He blames himself—what the psychiatrists call _survivor's guilt_—and when Lindsay comes to see him he turns his head away.

"Don?"

He doesn't answer her and he guesses she's fucking pissed at him because she throws a glass and it shatters against the floor.

"I'm pregnant, Don. With your baby. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna give it up."

He repeats a few of those words in his head, mainly "pregnant…with your baby." And it's not so bad as he imagined it to be. He kind of likes the thought of it. But at the same time, the worry appears and Flack remembers his father. If anything his father was his biggest failure.

"I want this baby because it's ours, Don. Not for some fundamentalist religious reason. It'll be a beautiful baby and we'll be great parents."

Flack sits up in his hospital bed, considers his country girl with her wavy hair and soft smile.

"Parents."

"Great ones," Lindsay says firmly.

"Okay," Flack says, still unsure but knowing that Lindsay will help him make it through.

Her hand finds his and a smile—one of her sunniest, he notices—makes its way across her face. Words come out of her mouth, something about names and having the baby in Montana and meeting the parents and the _wedding_. But right now all Flack can think of is that maybe, just maybe, with Lindsay he won't turn out to be like his father. He'll turn out to be something else entirely.


	8. 28 Free Association

Title: Running Out of Turbo  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe; Danny Messer  
Prompt: #28, Free Association  
Word Count: 1,313  
Warnings: Language, allusions to sex.  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: I think Don/Lindsay/Danny is my favorite threesome.

**Running Out of Turbo**

You know it's over when Lindsay packs her bags and leaves. It's been over for a couple of months and you still can't bring yourself to accept it because it's fucking Lindsay and you fucking love her. She always said that she loved you and you believed her because that's the way it was. She'd hold you and you'd hold her back, it was companionship and you can't even remember the last time you told her that you love her. Despite all of that you can remember the last breath she took right in front of you and even then, even when she picked up her bags to leave, you couldn't bring yourself to ask her to stay.

Danny takes you out a couple times to try and make it better, he takes you drinking and to the Yankees games and it's alright, it's okay. But it's Danny and you know something's up when he asks if you're over Lindsay. Because he's Danny, and because he's your best friend and he should fucking know better. Hell, you bought a ring a month into your relationship with the girl from Montana even though the relationship was so new you didn't even know if she preferred tea to coffee.

So he asks you if you're over Lindsay and you just walk away. Something's wrong with Danny and there's something in his eyes that you just can't place, a look that's not quite Danny somehow.

Later that night you go into Danny's apartment because he gave you keys years ago when you first became friends—"Just in case, man. I'll always be there, ya know?"—and you figure that maybe Danny's out because all the lights are off. Usually he stays up until midnight because he just can't sleep, you know it's because he has nightmares about the bodies they find but Danny would never say so. You go into the kitchen and what the fuck is that? You stop reaching for the glass of water that's on the counter and you hear it. The fuck and the oh yeah and the god Danny and the yeah Lindsay.

You can't really believe it. This is Danny (your best friend, oh god that son of bitch, it hurts so bad) and Lindsay. _Lindsay_. She was your girlfriend and you would've made her your wife and now she's screwing Danny. That's when you puke outside the window and you leave the apartment because you hear the bedroom door open. No matter how hard it would be to face Lindsay—you could do that, you really could—you just couldn't face Danny.

You leave the keys on the counter, though. Some part of you wants him to know you were there, wants Danny to know that you know.

You remember the first time you met Danny and it was four years ago. He was a year out of the academy and Mac was gonna ask him on the team, your dad was talkin' about it and you remember thinking, the kid's mob. But you know now that it's not true and you can swear that Danny's as clean as the driven snow. He's not that bad, really, he has his secrets but you know most of them the same way he knows yours and that makes it worse. What a son of a bitch, he's sleeping with Lindsay and oh god, how long has this been going on?

When Lindsay asks to meet you later in the week you want to cry (and nearly do, almost) because you know that she knows you know, because Danny probably told her. That's why Danny hasn't talked to you, even on cases. Stella's a go-between and she's the only one that knows about the ring. She helped you pick it out, down at Tiffany's and when she swore in Greek you found it attractive. You think you might like to ask her on a date, if only you weren't desperately in love with Lindsay and so fucking angry at Danny.

If only your life wasn't spinning so out of control.

Part of you tries to rationalize this whole situation. Maybe it was mistake, maybe she didn't really mean to have sex with Danny and say "Oh god, Danny, touch me there, please that's so good." Maybe Danny was drunk and he really didn't mean to ask if you were over her, because he knows you aren't and probably never will be. But inside you know that they both meant it and that when Danny said "I want you now, I want to be inside you" he meant that too.

Last time around Christmas it was you and Lindsay and you opened presents. She had a present that she held secretively and she wouldn't show you, she held it like it was something special. You remember reading _Peter Pan_ in high school and reading something about a 'hidden kiss' or something like that. That present and her smile reminded you of that book and that hidden kiss.

Part of you thinks that it might have been from Danny (knows it's from Danny, if you're honest with yourself) and the rest of you is trying to forget.

C'mon, you say to yourself. This has got to get better sometime. This is betrayal and someday I'll have to do something about it. Someday she'll come back to me (never, more likely, she's going going _gone_) and Danny will ask for forgiveness.

That's a load of shit but it's something you can delude yourself with. You try to imagine a world without Danny in it. A world without your best friend. And it's something you really can't imagine because these last few years have been all Danny and he's always been there. And when you try to imagine a world without Lindsay, you don't. You just don't want to think about it. You're still in love with her, always will be, and you just don't want to think about a world in which you'd be there but she wouldn't.

So when you do meet Lindsay you sit there and say nothing as she explains calmly that she and Danny are seeing each other (fuck yeah, more than seeing each other, I heard you two) and that you'd better accept it because nothing's going to change. The world doesn't stop just because you want it to, Don, she says. You had your chance, Lindsay says, repeating the words she said the day she left.

You get up and leave and part of you wishes that she'd get up and come after you. Wishes that when she did she'd pull you in by your tie and kiss you so deeply that it would feel like you're drowning. Wishes that after you parted she'd say something like, I'm so sorry baby it was all a mistake I want you back.

But you know that's never going to happen so you just go home and drink a beer, think about the job and get ready for another day. Lindsay's gone and yeah, that fucking hurts. Danny's gone and that hurts more because you thought he'd be there forever. He was your best friend. You remember dreaming when you were a kid that you'd be an astronaut; you'd fly up to space with an Apollo crew and land on the moon. But you knew that wouldn't happen because being a cop is in your blood and that's all your future held.

You also remember dreaming that Lindsay and you would have a future. That Danny and Aiden would work out because they both deserved it, they deserved it more than anyone you know. And then, not so long ago, you remember yourself hoping that hearing Danny and Lindsay in his apartment was all a dream because it hurt so much to even think of it being real.

Dreams are for kids.


	9. 8 Phobia

Title: Ever The Same  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
Prompt: #8, Phobia  
Word Count: 1,23  
Warnings: Allusions to relationship violence.  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Minor crossover with Law and Order:SVU. Okay, so I love Dean Winters. Sue me.

**Ever The Same**

_"Just let me hold you while you're falling apart  
Just let me hold you and we'll both fall down"  
-Rob Thomas_

Lindsay's first boyfriend was a boy who worked on her daddy's ranch. His name was Jack and he had nice hands, and she thought (used to think, oh god _used to_) that nice hands were good hands. He was a good boy and he treated her right, buying her flowers and walking her home after school. Her daddy approved of Jack and that was good enough for Lindsay. But while Jack's hands, some nights when her daddy was away, used to work wonders on her flesh, there were other hands in her life that did not work wonders.

She remembers Sam, the varsity track runner at college who asked her out on a date when he heard her cheering during the 50K run. He said all the right things (something that Lindsay has learned, over the years, that all the bad boys do) and then when the night was out he treated her badly. With bad boys it's always take take _take_, and they never ask first, Lindsay wonders if bad boys ever had a mother to teach them how to treat girls right or a good father to tell them not to hit.

And the last boyfriend she remembers having – the last one worth remembering, at least – is a detective with the NYPD. She never told the CSI team about him, not even (especially not) Flack. Her boyfriend's name was Brian Cassidy and he worked the Special Victims Unit, and she guessed all he was looking for was someone to love because his job is so goddamn _hard_. She held him at night and he would whisper how grateful he was; one night grateful transmuted into 'I love you so much, Lindsay' and she knew Cassidy didn't mean it because hell, Lindsay Monroe is not Olivia Benson.

Now Lindsay works late in the lab because she has no one to go home to and she fears that's the way it will always be. In Montana she had Jack and Sam, and her family. But here in the city she only has Cassidy (who says he loves her but he only ever saw Olivia when they slept together) and the CSIs. The team and Flack, that's all she has. Sometimes she stays over Stella's place because Stella has the same fear but it's not the same as having someone hold you in the night.

Sometimes Flack stays late with her even though his shift ended hours ago and he should, by all rights, be home asleep. She can't even comprehend why he's staying here because she's used to the solitude and yet she loves his company. He doesn't talk often (he just watches, really) but sometimes he inserts random asides about policework or his life and that's okay. One night it turns from randomosity into a two and a half hour conversation that has Lindsay forgetting good boys and bad boys and DNA; right now she's focusing on Flack.

That night is the first night she calls him Don.

He brings her up to her apartment and as she's bidding him goodnight it slips out. Not 'Flack' or even 'detective,' but 'Don.' And he grins at her, brushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and tells her he'll see her tomorrow. But as he's leaving, Flack turns around and tells her that he likes it when she calls him that, so from then on that's what she calls him.

Three months later Danny's convinced that Flack is in love with her but Lindsay will hear none of it, even when Hawkes seconds the view. She and Flack have gotten close; he takes her out to dinner after shift or they hang out after work at either one of their apartments. They see movies or whatever normal people do, people who don't pick up the mess of chaos. But when Stella tells her, cautiously, that she sees what Danny and Hawkes are saying and maybe just maybe, Flack _is_ in love with her, a seed of doubt is planted in her mind.

There is no longer something innocent in the way he always opens the door for her, in the way she'll let him and no one else call her 'Linds.' She remembers the day Flack sent her flowers for no reason at all (she was so happy) and back then she didn't wonder why but now she does. Lindsay finds herself examining everything that Flack does for her and every little thing points to one conclusion so one night after watching some movie she probably won't remember in a week she tells him about good boys and bad boys.

She even tells him about Brian Cassidy from the NYPD and Flack's eyes narrow at that; she can tell he's thinking "If there's something wrong with him I'm gonna find it" and "If he hurt her I'll kill him" and even "Wonder what he has that I don't?"

Lindsay doesn't bother to tell Flack that there's nothing wrong with Cassidy except for the fact that he's in love with someone he can never have, and that he never hurt her, and that Cassidy could never outdo Flack. It's really none of his business, even though it's sort of nice to think that Flack is comparing himself to Cassidy and wondering.

When she tells about Sam she sees his hands clench and Lindsay can tell Flack wishes he knew where the kid was now, because God willing, he'd kill him. When she tells him about Jack it's okay and Flack loosens up a little because hey, that's how girls are supposed to be treated and Jack did it right.

Flack says something, something like "I need to tell you something', Linds" and she's shaking her head and moving away from him on the couch. She's still afraid (of good and bad boys, of those inbetween, of being alone and other things too) and she doesn't want this time to be ruined because of a silly thing like love. Which, by the way, is yet _another_ thing she's afraid of.

But now Flack has pulled her to him with a degree of force that would terrify another human being, yet with Lindsay she just blinks a few times and knows he only wants her to listen.

"I love you, you know. I really do love you. I think I understand now, at least a little bit, why you're so afraid. But you need to know, Linds, that I'll always be here."

Lindsay bites her lower lip, a habit of hers that Flack finds endearing and on several occasions has made it a point to prase.

"But—"

He rests his forehead against hers, his hands tracing lazy circles on her back. After a few moments Lindsay relaxes and leans closer to him, her brown eyes meeting his own blue ones. After a few moments when his hands stop their tracing and rest firmly on the small of her back, and Flack says softly, "Love can be gentle, Lindsay."

And Lindsay gasps softly because if anything she hadn't been expecting him to be so sincere, so _real_.

Love can be good, love can be bad. Love can be full of unquestioned answers or unanswered questions. Love can be you and me. Love can be—

When the name came, it was a sigh, whispered with such reverence it was almost like a prayer.

"Don."


	10. 27 Catharsis

**Title:** One of These Days  
**Summary:** And she believes that one of these days, she'll find a way to stay with him – even if it means walking through the night.  
**Disclaimer: **The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**A/N:** Much love to Michelle Branch for partial inspiration of ficness.  
**Rating:** FRM  
**Word Count:** 1,616

**One of These Days**

_"One of these days  
I won't be afraid of staying with you  
I hope and I pray  
Waiting to find a way back to you  
Cause that's where I'm home"  
-Michelle Branch_

The night is cool and the streets glisten with earlier rainfall. The cracks in the sidewalks are filling with water, not fixing but maybe just healing. That's an analogy for so many things in her life but she doesn't want to think about it. Not right now, when she's walking to his apartment for the first time in weeks. There isn't much to see – if it was the country there would be stars out right now but it's the city so maybe they're just satellites.

Before the bombing, the whole relationship with her and Don was a bit shaky anyway. She knew that she was using him, in her own way. He hated her a little bit each day for that but he never let on because that wasn't the kind of man he was, which was why she loves him now. Afterwards, however, they pushed each other away. Don didn't want her around because he knew she wouldn't stay – and she didn't – and Lindsay didn't want to be around because she knew if she were, she'd want to stay with him.

She wouldn't want to leave.

- - - - -

When she enters the apartment, it's easy to tell that Don's on leave. He hates being away from the job, being off the streets. Lindsay knows that just as being a country girl's in her blood (breathing the open air, walking in the fields) being a city boy is in his – the street smarts of the boroughs and the family tradition of being NYPD blue. She knows she shouldn't be thinking of this but when Flack was brought out on the ambulance those many weeks ago, she remembers being surprised that he didn't bleed blue.

Right now, though, she's thinking that his apartment is a mess – old takeout boxes all over the place, newspapers scattered on a table. The light filters through the curtains on his windows into the living room. Don's standing by the mantle, peering at a few pictures. From his position she knows that he's looking at the only picture of them together.

- - - - -

When she gets close enough Lindsay can tell that there's something wrong, and she hates that she can tell just by observing minute details. The way Flack's head lowers, the way tension fairly flows across his shoulders, the frown set on his mouth, the steely blue his eyes have become.

She reaches out a hand to his shoulder, and pulls back hurriedly when he throws the picture across the room suddenly, shattering the frame.

Lindsay knows that Don never tells anyone what he's feeling – he always has to be there for everyone else. Always. But maybe this time he's just had enough of holding everything in and she hopes that it wasn't her that caused it.

"Don, are you—"

"Fuck if I know, Lindsay."

- - - - -

Flack tells himself that he's not a revenge fuck and that it's not even comfort sex. And when he tries pinpointing who would be revenged or who'd be comforted, he can't even tell anymore.

- - - - -

He turns to face her, hands clenching at his sides in an anger he doesn't really feel. It's all just pent up frustration and things he should've said a long time ago. It's mostly Danny and the fuck doesn't even know how to treat women – why is Lindsay so hung up on him anyway?

His voice had an edge to it, just the right note of danger to let Lindsay know that this was not his day.

"I'm not some cheap fuck that you can come to when Danny blows ya off, okay, Lindsay? I'm so fucking sick of waiting—"

Lindsay interrupts angrily. "That's not fair, Don."

"Fair?" he replies. "What's fair gotta do with it? Aiden's gone and that's not fair – Mac shoulda known somethin' was up with that case and now she's fucking _dead_. Danny's brother is in a fucking coma for trying to protect him and how is that fair? Stella killed her boyfriend and nearly died herself – Stella, Linds."

Flack takes a deep breath and looks away from Lindsay. He's been holding this all in for so long and he's so sick of taking care of everyone, he needs someone to hold him for once. Someone to tell him everything will be okay.

He continues with, "And all that fucked up shit with the bombing. I nearly died. How the fuck is that fair, when the last thing I remember is thinking, please let me live so I can see Lindsay's face again? I love ya and I know that ya don't wanna stay with me. Just…just _fuck_, Lindsay."

Any sharp retorts Lindsay had are lost in the aftermath of Flack's confession. Maybe it's not a confession, exactly – more of an emotional release.

(and that's how it got started – he kissed her then, twisting her head back and crushing his mouth to hers. his teeth bit hard enough at her lower lip to draw blood. the mild coppery taste of her blood reaches his tongue and he thinks, _mine_.)

- - - - -

Flack spins them around so Lindsay's back is firm against the wall, his hand resting on her hip, the other still tangled hopelessly in her hair. He presses his hand tightly against the small of her back, rumpling the fabric of her shirt beneath his fingers as he runs them upwards, tracing the curve of her spine until the rough scrape of plaster stopped him at her shoulders. He finds it fascinating, the slope of her back, the curve of her neck, the dip of her collarbone where it meets her shoulder.

He's distracted again by Lindsay's lips on his. Flack deepens the kiss, feeling her hands in his hair, and he eases his thigh between her legs, one hand cupping her breast through her clothes, not gentle at all. He goes on teasing until he feels her legs tensing around his own, trying to pull him closer.

And even if she wants him to stop, which she doesn't, she wouldn't ask him to because she knows that he needs this and at this point she'd do anything for him.

_finis._

_A/N: There is an explicit version of this chapter. PM me if you would like to recieve the full version._


	11. 24 Skinner Box

Title: Balance Beam  
Characters: Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
Warnings: Minor language.  
Rating: PG-13 / T  
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
A/N: Lyrics from the song "Balance Beam" by Blue October.

**Balance Beam**

"_I haven't been quite the same,  
So sure the story of my life would never change."  
-Blue October_

It always seemed as if he were living precariously on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall if only he was allowed. But he never has been and, for some fell reason, he never will be. There are certain things that he has always known, certain things he has grown up knowing. These things come down to one small point – that he has never been in control of his life.

He's heard the story since childhood. Not even out of his mother's womb, the doctors performed a Caesarian section and brought him out into the world when he otherwise would've died. (the cord was tied tight around his neck, you see, and he would've strangled then from lack of air as he was strangling now.) It was almost fate.

Not that he wasn't grateful to those doctors, because he is; without them, he wouldn't be alive now. He wouldn't have met the love of his life. He would've have met his friends, who mostly keep him sane these days – except for Danny, he could say Danny drives him mad all the time – but those doctors saved his life and he was always grateful for that.

Then, nearly thirteen years later, he was playing out on the street – baseball, god knows why, he always liked hockey better – and he broke a window. He was notorious for having the strikeout record, for as he put it, "felt wrong not to swing." And, as a matter of course, never before had he hit a homerun. But it had to be at that one perfect moment when the ball centered in, spiraling right towards him – he swung, and the ball broke free of its skin, and he ran. He heard the window break as he reached second and he froze halfway to third.

It was almost as if God was telling him something. His pops found out, of course, police dads always do – he received a hearty beating and he had to pay for the window (three different paper routes out in the suburbs, fuck, how that sucked back then. At least he held his head up and afterwards his pops clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well done, son."

Years later he was in high school and on the way home, walking as he liked to back then, Tanglewood boys shot at the kid he was walking next to – the kid's name was Martin, he wanted to be a journalist – and fuck if he can ever forget that day. He called the police and his pops showed up, interviewed him like a regular witness and when they got home his pops pulled him close for the first time in his life and said it would be okay.

He lay in bed later that night; blood still staining his hands, and thought about his future. (The future Martin would never have, he would have to live for Martin from now on.) He had always known that becoming a cop was expected, if not demanded, of him. His father, his father's father, and so on and so on. He just had always thought that he might have a choice along the line – you know, stick it to the man, become a veterinarian or some shit like that, but now… Now, he has no choice. It's almost as if there's some plan out there that shoved Martin's death in his face, almost as a message – "Here, this is what you have to do. This is your plan, your destiny."

And he would've asked Aiden to marry him, too, if things hadn't changed so rapidly it was almost as if gravity reversed. First, it's DJ Pratt back from the abyss, raping a victim for the second time and Aiden had to take the case, just had to work it even though everyone (including herself) knew it was far too personal. Then she nearly _planted evidence_ (what the _fuck_, Aid?) and got herself fired. But you know he supposed it was all part of the grand plan. It was Lindsay, you know, it had to be Lindsay because without Aiden he never would've had the grace to meet the country girl.

It has to be mere coincidence that they first started talking about Aiden (she felt that he was the only she could talk to, what with Messer being a total ass, Stella being the Ice Queen, and Mac being the emotional cripple while Hawkes stayed nice yet unavailable.) So they talked more and more and he fell in love, her shortly after. It was a chain of coincidences that couldn't really be _too_ coincidental. After all, when taken in context, it was almost fate.

He had lost control of his life a long time ago (before he was even born) and even now to think of gaining that control back is quite terrifying. He would like to think that all of these happy coincidences have not led him astray thus far – and so, he has now relinquished control of his life to some other thought process, and he remembered once something he had heard.

Dream is destiny.


	12. 11 Castration Anxiety

**Title:** Flags on Graves  
**Characters:** Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
**Word Count:** 1315  
**Spoilers:** Miscellaneous S3 spoilers. Fear not!  
**Warnings:** Character death. Mild language.  
**Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**A/N:**

**Flags on Graves**

He visited her every day without fail. It was a new forced habit, something he hadn't gotten used to yet. (although he told himself, donnie, you better, because there's nothing here that's going to change.) Danny said it wasn't healthy, that he really ought to see a psychiatrist or something like that. But Flack didn't need to know what the shrink would say, because he already knew. _Survivor's guilt_. It was really a simple conclusion, something he would rather do away with. She died, I didn't. I feel guilty. A short thought process, easy enough to understand. But she shouldn't be dead – it wasn't supposed to happen like that.

It was so like her, you know, to want to go undercover; to take the reins and _do something_ while everyone else stood around in a panic. So she took the place of the intended victim and she got made. Flack had explained everything carefully, made sure she knew exactly what she was doing –

She snuck him a confident smile, shaky around the edges but her eyes held all the love in the world for him.

"It'll be okay, Donnie. Don't you worry over little ol' me."

That was what she said. _It'll be okay, Donnie_. And she was the only one who could call him that, ever. But it wouldn't be okay because she died, she got shot two times in the chest, and he rushed in there and he couldn't save her. What Flack remembered, mostly aside from her walking away or her assurances or the kiss she gave him that morning, was the blood. There was just so much of it; he had never had any idea that so much resided in a person. It was all over her, all over the floor, and there was spatter on the wall. And when he rushed to her, his hands pressed against the wounds, the blood got on him too. (he hated the color red now, can't stand it, and can't even look at it.)

She didn't say much.

"I don't think," she whispered, "that I'll be able to make it out tonight, Donnie."

Flack tried to make her see that everything would be okay, Mac called the ambulance and the EMTs were on the way, please hold on baby. She rested a bloodstained hand against his cheek, and suddenly all his sensation was focused on that one point. He hardly noticed Danny and Stella entering the room, or Mac telling them to stand back.

"Love you," she said.

Her voice was fading, her pulse slowing. She was dying and even then he couldn't really wrap his head around that little tidbit. She wasn't supposed to die; a CSI, gone, in the line of duty?

"I love you too, Linds. I do. Christ. I never got the chance…"

"Ask me," she said, knowing what he meant; she had always known him better than anyone else. "Ask me now."

He could hardly get the words out, and fuck, this was never supposed to happen, but he choked out the words anyway. It was supposed to be strawberries and champagne and a hellishly expensive restaurant. Not last words while she lay dying.

"Will you…will you marry me?"

And with her last breath, she said yes.

Fuck that shit. Fuck it, man. He hated the team looking at him like they knew what was going on when they really didn't. He and Lindsay had kept their relationship secret, even from Danny, with him he was really close. They aren't so close anymore, mostly because Danny thought he knew Lindsay better, thought he had a higher right to mourn her than Flack did – until Flack showed him the ring, told him Lindsay's favorite colors and books and the way she would curl into him while they slept. Danny tried to apologize, but Flack didn't want any of it. He needed his time – time that started at two months off and had turned into six.

That left him with the new habit of going to see Lindsay every day. He had always hated cemeteries, but he hated them even more so now – now that she rested there, when in all honesty she should be with him, married and having children. It just wasn't fair, not that life ever was. He could remember the first time he kissed her, the first time he ever told her that he cared for her, and he held onto it like a floatation device in roiling seas.

She entered her office preoccupied, her brow furrowed and a look of absolute concentration on her face. But it was the flowers (and the man) at her desk that brought her back to the moment, made her tilt her head and smile faintly.

"So, Detective," Lindsay said slowly, "what's the occasion?"

"Nothing quite says "I'm sorry" like a $100 bouquet, right? This," Flack gestured to the dozen roses, "is my apology for being a jerk to you while working the case."

She came closer, cupped a rose in her palm and leaned down to smell it. Lindsay turned, rested against the desk while she contemplated the man before her.

"You know you didn't have to do that, Don."

"Yeah, I did. You were right, and I was wrong. I had to do something to show it," he said, standing up.

They regarded each other a few moments before Lindsay tugged on his tie and said, "Sure hope saying sorry is not the only reason you came down this way, Don."

He smiled quickly, but he still didn't know what to do. This was all too new to him, it had been a year or more since he'd had a girlfriend. And Lindsay, well, she was one different kind of woman. He'd never met anyone like her and now she had asked him if maybe there was some other reason, so he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. He leaned down, kept one hand rested on her cheek while the other wound around her waist, and he kissed her.

He knew it was a rash decision, that she probably didn't feel the same and that in all likelihood, she was going to tell Danny about this on their date later. But he felt it was rather prudent to take a risk, especially this one; he had, after all, wanted her practically since the moment he first met her. And then he realized that Lindsay Monroe was _kissing him back_.

But that was a long time ago. And the other day his mom knit him a red scarf, but he couldn't even look at it. He threw it out immediately after he opened it, because these days when he found himself thinking 'red' he couldn't think 'ketchup' or 'strawberries.' He thought 'blood' and that led to a whole different slew of memories.

It was Flag Day at the cemetery, he noticed. There were Boy Scouts all over the place, inserting flags into the ground by the headstones of veterans, of officers and firemen lost in the line of duty. When Flack reached Lindsay's grave there was a tall Boy Scout standing there. The kid looked so lost with the flag in his hands that Flack wanted to take it away, but the kid hastily stuck it in the ground and walked towards the detective.

"She yours?" he asked.

Flack nodded slowly. He didn't know this kid, and the kid didn't know fuck all about him, so how did he know to ask if Lindsay was his?

"It'll get easier with time," the kid said.

Then the Boy Scout left, and Flack was back to his daily routine. His new forced habit. It would get easier with time, when the pain was a little less new and his memories of the event a little more faded.

He visited her every day without fail.


	13. 9 Sociopath

**Title:** Emotional Voyeurism  
** Characters:** Danny Messer, Lindsay Monroe; Don Flack Jr.  
** Word Count:** 2,778  
** Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
** A/N:** First FM Radio fic posted in over a month. I went on a holistic retreat. Sort of a fic hiatus, but now I'm back…with a vengeance. Kiss kiss.

**Emotional Voyeurism**

_Danny felt like a felon who had just been captured by the cops. He didn't know how to explain this feeling, mostly because it had just come over him. He guessed it came with the mindset. One minute you're flying high, riding on the assumption you're doing great and nothing's going to go wrong. You haven't made any mistakes so why worry? But then you're nailed getting a cannoli down in Little Italy. You didn't even expect it, which is why it sucks that much harder. That was how Danny felt about Lindsay and Flack._

_She sat opposite him in the diner, playing chess with the salt and peppershakers. Jesus. They should've just told him. But told him what? That his best friend and girlfriend were…Dating? Pining for each other? Exchanging significant looks and writing love letters and doing god knows what else._

"_Danny. Are you gonna say something, or what?"_

"_Yeah. Yeah, I am. Lindsay, why didn't you tell me? Flack, he's my best friend. We've known each other for years. An' you. We haven't known each other that long but we had something. We had trust an' friendship, if not more."_

"_Danny," said Lindsay. "It's not that simple."_

"_The hell it isn't," snapped Danny. "Ya shoulda just told me."_

"_The thing is, Danny, no one can just tell you anything. It's always so personal with you."_

"_And what, Lindsay, my best friend an' my girlfriend doing I don't even know what behind my back isn't personal?"_

_She had the sense to look embarrassed, a faint blush creeping along her cheekbones. He wanted to apologize, to brush her hair behind her ears or something like that. To tell her that this fling was okay, that he and Flack would be okay. But he knew it wasn't a fling, even if he wished it were._

"_I want to know when it started, Lindsay. I want to know everything. I want it to be like I was there. Not because I'm an emotional voyeur, but because I need to know."_

_Lindsay studied him for a moment, the "I just got out of bed" hair, the five o'clock shadow he had grown fond of lately, the intense blue eyes. As she looked at him he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose almost subconsciously, a habit she loved about him. In the lab some days, she'd watch him and count how many times he did it. That was before all of this happened. Before there was a Danny and Lindsay, before there was a Don and Lindsay. Before any of it._

"_Okay," she said at length. "But it won't be easy."_

_"It never is."_

It was my second Christmas in the city. The first Christmas, it just slipped by without much notice. I mean, I didn't really celebrate. I didn't have anyone to celebrate with. I didn't know any of you yet, not well, at least. And I missed my family. So, so much. I remember I spent my first Christmas at the lab. Mac didn't like it, but I think he understood. Mac understands me a lot better than anyone sometimes. He tries to protect me, too. I think he tries too hard to be my father, but maybe he needs that. Some people do.

But anyway. I remember it was snowing, not a lot but the weatherman promised heavy snowfall by midnight. That made me glad. It always snows a lot in Montana.

"_You miss it, don't you?"_

"_What?"_

"_Your home back in Montana."_

_"Always. But I've made a home here, too."_

That night, you had invited me to be your date to the NYPD Christmas party. I thought it would be good for us. We had been having a rough patch. We were both worried about Mac finding out about us, about everyone finding out. Except for Don. He was the only one who knew about us. I was worried about what being with you would mean for me. I didn't really know how to categorize my feelings for you. You aren't the type of guy I'd usually go for, but somehow, you'd won me over. I guess I saw something good in you when everyone else said that there was nothing to see.

I wore my green dress, because I knew you liked how I looked in it. Lately it felt like that's all I worried about. How you felt. I wanted to make sure you were okay in the relationship, that you weren't worried or angry or hurt. I wasn't worried about myself. Maybe that was part of the problem.

You picked me up around, oh, six o'clock I guess. You said I looked beautiful, so beautiful. It wasn't like the year before when you said that I cleaned up nice; it was more than that. It was like… I don't even know. It was like you were seeing me again for the first time in ages. We met the others in front of the hotel where the party was, and I remember thinking that everyone looked great. We all looked so happy together, smiling and laughing and saying "Merry Christmas."

"You did look beautiful, you know. You always have. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise."

"_Danny, don't. Don't play that game. You know you never made me feel like that."_

"_I was just…"_

_"I know."_

We all sat down at our table. There was a candle thing in the middle, and it smelled like peppermint. We sat and talked for a while. Mac told us about how Peyton had left for England the week before, and I tried not to feel bad for him because I knew (we all did) how much he cared for her. Stella said she had gone on her first date since the whole ordeal with Frankie, and I was glad. She deserves to be happy, maybe even more than anyone is. Sid and Hawkes were engaged in their usual banter. That was always something I enjoyed.

After a while you put your arm around the back of my chair and I felt really conspicuous. I kept wondering if anyone noticed, if anyone would think really into it. Every so often you'd lean towards me and say something, or you'd smile at me – a secret smile that was just for me. And while I treasured those things because they made me feel special, I also worried about it. I guess part of the problem with our relationship was that I didn't want anyone to know. You were a secret. I still feel bad about that, Danny; you have to believe me.

Time passed and everyone ate dinner. Then music started playing and I shared a few dances with you. It was nice. We hadn't danced very often before. During those few dances I got the feeling you wanted to tell me something but somehow I didn't want you to, so whatever chance I got I steered the small talk away from it. I danced with Sid; he's actually quite a good dancer. He was really quite formal about it as well, calling me "madam" and saying "shall we dance?" It was quite lovely.

Afterwards was when Don asked me to dance. That was when he told me that he loves me. That he had loved me, for quite a while.

_"He loved you for a while? Jesus. I never… I didn't see it."_

_"He didn't mean for you to. For either of us."_

One of my favorite Christmas carols, or songs, rather, has always been Auld Lang Syne. I've never really been sure what it's about, but I know at least in part it's about old friends. Don came up to me just as the song was starting, just as Sid and I parted ways.

"Lindsay," he said, "how 'bout you give me a dance?"

The way he looked at me, the way he smiled, it made me feel like I was the only woman in the world at that moment. Like there was no one he would rather dance with than me. I don't even remember saying anything to him, I only know that he just stepped closer to me and we were dancing. I don't think our eyes ever left each other's. I couldn't really focus on anything, because it seemed as if everything was blurred around the edges; other people were faded colors, sounds were muffled. All I could concentrate on was Auld Lang Syne and my hands in Don's.

And in a moment, everything changed.

"Have to tell you something, Lindsay. I've been wanting to tell you for a while, you know?"

"Okay," I said, figuring that this had something to do with Aiden. I always felt that Don didn't like me because I wasn't Aiden, especially when I first came to the city. I don't know. It's just a feeling I got.

_"Aw, Linds. You know that's not true. None of us ever thought that. Not me, not Flack. Not any of us."_

"_Well, I know that now. I was new to the city, Danny, and everyone was whispering behind my back about how Aiden was fired and how I was her replacement. You were all so close to her and I was the new girl. How was I supposed to feel?"_

"_Touché."_

"_Can I continue, or do you want to keep interrupting?"_

_"Sorry. Please, go on."_

As it turned out, what Don had to tell me didn't have anything to do with Aiden. In fact, it was as far from Aiden as it could get.

"I love you."

I really wasn't expecting that. I really, really, wasn't.

"What?"

"Look, Lindsay, I know that this seems sudden, but it's not. I've needed you for so long. Everything about you is fascinating. The way your hair falls a different way each day, the way you smile, the way you try to prove other people right when they say you're wrong, the way you try to help people with their secrets. Jesus, Lindsay, everything."

"Don—"

His hands tightened on mine. Suddenly it seemed as if we were alone in the room, like we were the only ones dancing. It was only us, Don and I, us against the world.

"No, listen. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, sorry it's taken this long for both of us. But Danny's my best friend and I didn't want to hurt him. I know he'll be angry but I need to tell you now, it hurts so much to want you and not know if there's a chance or not. I need to know, Lindsay."

At that point I pulled away from him. I didn't want to hurt him, not then and not now, but I couldn't handle it. I cared about you and this was your best friend, our friend, telling me that he had loved me and that he wanted me to choose. It's not my nature, Danny, you know that. It hurt, and it was already tearing me up inside. But what was worse was that I already didn't feel guilty about what had transpired. I didn't feel guilty about dancing with Don, about feeling breathless while my hands were in his. I wondered what that meant.

_"It seems kinda obvious in retrospect, Lindsay."_

_"Shut up, Danny."_

I wanted to walk away, to just leave him standing there. Part of me won't allow me to do that, though, so I just stood there for a moment until he said,

"Lindsay, I'm sorry. I never meant—"

I don't like apologies, especially when someone's apologizing about their feelings. I mean, your feelings are the truth. And Don, if he had been waiting for so long to tell me something, something that obviously meant a lot to him – why apologize for it?

"Shut up. Just…shut up. I need to think, okay? I just, I need to think. It's not as easy as me loving you; there's Danny. Christ. You should've told me sooner."

He reached out as if to rest his hand on my shoulder. Like he was going to comfort me. But I turned away, and walked back to our table. Auld Lang Syne hand ended moments before, I think. I didn't wonder why you hadn't come looking for me, because I knew why. I was with Don, and he's your best friend. Why worry? You trusted him.

_"Ain't that the truth. An' ya know, it's not that I don't trust him now. It's just that, you an' I, I dunno. I really wanted us to work, Lindsay."_

"_Me too, Danny."_

"_An' now you're with Flack an' I guess I'm just jealous that my best friend could give ya somethin' I couldn't, ya know?"_

_"Yes. It's not your fault. I just didn't know what I was looking for until I found it."_

When I got back to the table, I sat down next to you and you asked me if Flack was a good dancer. I think I said something about him not being as good as you, which is something a girlfriend is supposed to say. To be honest, I don't really remember much about Flack's dancing capabilities because I wasn't really concentrating on that. I was sort of taken aback by the "I love you" part of the conversation.

When Don came back to the table, I did everything I could to not look at him. Mostly I just talked to you, Danny, and I laughed when I knew I should. I could tell he was looking at me. I knew what he was thinking, because it's what men in love think when the woman they want is with someone else; "It should be me making her laugh like that" and, just because I think he knew me better, "Why does she pretend?"

I felt like when you looked at me, that you could see that things weren't right. That maybe you knew, without a doubt, that something had happened during that dance. It was a hectic feeling, and it made me anxious to leave the party, to get away from Don because I thought that maybe if I got away from him I could get away from my thoughts.

We left a few minutes before eleven, and as we walked towards the door I looked over my shoulder. Don was talking to Stella, smiling, but he glanced towards us as we walked away. Our gazes met and I could tell that he wasn't going to let this go. For the first time, I could see how much he loved me. I looked away.

_"So that's it, then," said Danny as he leaned back in his chair. He felt his back crack and he wondered how long he and Lindsay had been in the diner. He noted the shifts in light outside, and reckoned two to three hours at least. He hadn't realized that her telling him how Flack had told her he loved her would take that long. _

_"__That's it."_

_Lindsay frowned and took a sip of the iced tea she had ordered before she began detailing the event to Danny. She hadn't told Don that she was meeting him today, and she didn't know whether she'd tell him why._

_"__You should've told me sooner, Lindsay. You an' Flack. I know we've been through this already, but really."_

_"__I know. It's just, we were trying to figure things out for ourselves and we didn't even know what was going on. Everything was so strange, really, I didn't know I was in love with him until I already was."_

_Danny grinned. "Well, that works. I guess… I dunno. Maybe you an' Flack, an' me… We could try goin' out sometime. Dinner or somthin'. Try an' work this out."_

_Lindsay considered Danny. It did seem like he was trying to make this work, and it really couldn't be easy for him, all circumstances looked at. That was something that had drawn her to Danny in the first place. No matter what the situation, no matter how hard, he faced it head on and tried to make the best of it._

_"__Okay. We could do that."_

_He put some money down on the table as he stood up, and said, "You work it out on Flack's end, alright? I'm free this weekend, but you know how the job is. We should set somethin' up soon. Don't tell him, but I kinda miss him."_

_She watched Danny exit the diner and remembered Don saying something similar the other day. Lindsay sighed. The three of them…they'd sort it out. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all. Everything would be back to normal soon._


	14. 13 Delusion

**Title:**Walking With a Ghost  
**Characters:** Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
**Word Count:** 544  
**Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**A/N:** There's a surprise inside.

**Walking With a Ghost**

The dark settled over the city like a blanket, covering the concrete in distinct gloom. The city burst to life quickly with bright lights, the people outside still eager to walk the sidewalks. Flack could see it all from his apartment window. He hadn't gone out in a while, but he didn't miss it that much. The most he ever did was a drink or so at Sullivan's after shift with the CSIs, but it rarely happened these days. It wasn't the same.

"I'm worried about Danno," he said, settling into a chair. "He hasn't been the same since it happened."

Lindsay sat on his lap, her arm around his shoulder. She toyed with his hair as she said, "He doesn't know what to say to you, baby. You should talk to him. We all deal with grief in different ways, you know, and Danny just doesn't know how to help you when you both lost the same thing."

His arms circled her waist, as if making sure she wouldn't leave anytime soon. Flack could almost sense an argument coming; Danny had always been a problem in their relationship, whether they had wanted it or not.

"It's just, we didn't lose the same thing, Linds. He lost something he wanted, and I lost something I had. It's completely different. I don't know what to say to him, either."

"Just start at the beginning and everything else will follow, Donnie."

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah. I guess so."

Lindsay frowned as she leaned her head against Don's. "You know, baby, I heard Angell's pretty into you. I think you should start dating again, find someone else."

"I don't _want_ to find someone else," Flack said firmly.

"I'm not coming back to you, Don. You know that. I'd hate to see you pass up something that will be good for you."

He pulled away from Lindsay, an awful feeling opening up in the pit of his stomach. He had spent the past months trying to forget the fact that she wasn't coming back. Flack had measured his life by her. Every smile, every secret, every dinner, every breath he took. Lindsay could come back. She had to.

"I'll live."

Lindsay stood up and walked towards the window. She had always loved the city at night; the lights, the sounds, even the absence of stars.

"You remember that time when you told me there were no stars in the sky because they were ashamed of how unattractive they were next to me?"

Flack remembered. It was, quite possibly, the worst pick-up line he had ever used in his entire life. Lindsay had laughed at him, and he had thought she would reject him right then and there. She had asked him out to dinner instead.

"Yeah, I remember."

"I think that's what you have to do, Don, hold onto the memories."

"Bullshit," he said fiercely. "I just want things to be the way they were before."

"You know that can't happen," Lindsay said softly. She walked back to him and kneeled beside the chair. She rested her hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently. "I just want you to be happy, Don."

Flack looked at Lindsay, his eyes filled with repressed emotions.

"Then you shouldn't have died."


	15. 10 Approach Avoidance

**Title: **Beautiful Wreck  
** Characters:** Don Flack, Lindsay Monroe  
** Word Count:** 1551  
** Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
** A/N:** Written as a Christmas fic request for iluvroadrunner. Prompt _Don Flack, Jr. / Lindsay Monroe / a long time ago_.

**Beautiful Wreck**

_Well all the plans that you had  
From seven years ago  
Like all the promises you made  
I watched them come and go_  
-Shawn Mullins

Lindsay looked around the precinct, and realized that she never thought that it would feel this different. Everything was the same since she had been here last, but it still felt like so much had changed. Sure, some cops had probably transferred out of the unit, and some had probably transferred in or been made detective. There were some minor changes in décor and the general layout, but even though she knew this place, it was like she was a separate entity. It had been years.

She never should've come back, not in a million years, it was a mistake. A horrible mistake, she should've stayed in Montana because if she stayed here much longer she'd surely run into --

"Lindsay?" He approached her cautiously, as if not really sure that it was her. "That you?"

She shoved her hands in her pockets and furrowed her brow. She knew this was going to happen, inside she had just known it would, even when she had first gotten on the airplane. The thing was, even though Lindsay felt that seeing Flack for the first time in five years wasn't going to be the best thing, maybe it wouldn't be so bad either.

"Yeah." At length her eyes met his, and Christ, it felt so good to Lindsay to look into those blue eyes again. "Yeah, it's me."

He tapped the folder he held against his palm, and Lindsay could sense his unease just as keenly as she sensed her own. It couldn't be easy, could it, to come face-to-face with the person you spent a year of your life with? The reason why they weren't still together didn't really matter now. The only thing that mattered about that was that it had nearly destroyed both of them.

"Been forever."

She could tell that he wanted to say more, and all she had to do was let him. That had always been Flack. He would never do anything in their relationship that wasn't okay with her first, except where police work was concerned. But that…that didn't have anything to do with why she was here. Why was she here?

"Feels longer than that." Lindsay could see that Flack still wanted to say so much to her, things he had never said because she had been the one to leave and he never stopped her. "Maybe we could talk, if you have the time. I realize that you're on the clock--"

A great deal of weight seemed to rise off of Flack's shoulders and he shook his head, gesturing over his shoulder. "Nah. I got time. This case is going nowhere fast, at least not without proper evidence, and that's coming up on the empty side. C'mon, Linds."

How long had it been, she wondered, since someone had called her 'Linds'? She shook her head of that thought, trying to impersonalize her thoughts about Flack and what was going to take place as she followed him through the maze of people in the bullpen. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Whatever anything else was, with Flack it had always been personal. She didn't know what to make of that, and she didn't even try because God knows what that would mean for her current situation.

"How you been?" Flack asked, as Lindsay sat down in a chair next to his desk. This was one of the most uncomfortable situations of his life, and making small talk in the precinct wasn't exactly his first choice of ways to sort things out.

"I'm working in the crime lab back in Bozeman. It was strange at first, having been away for so long, but I got back into the swing of things pretty quick. It helps to have five older brothers on the force threatening to beat anyone who gives you a hard time." She laughed softly, then looked up at Flack with a strange sort of pride in her eyes. "I made CSI third grade back in June."

Flack leaned back in his chair and flashed a quick grin at Lindsay. "I know."

Her gaze sharpened on him when he spoke of prior knowledge. She didn't really understand. "How could you know, Don? It wasn't as if someone else could've told you, because I haven't been talking to anyone here in the city after I left--"

"Lindsay," Flack said gently. "Lindsay. Just because we ended and just because you left doesn't mean I stopped caring. You wouldn't talk to me, and you weren't talking to anyone else here either, so I had to find out how you were doing somehow."

She nibbled on her lower lip. She really hadn't taken that into account. Lindsay had, for all intents and purposes, thought that Flack would do just what she had done; try to forget it had ever happened, and do a miserable job of it. No matter how hard she had tried to forget him dancing with her, buying her flowers, kissing her desperate and slow and fierce and tender and lovely, she just couldn't.

"Who?" she asked at length. Part of her wanted to know who had cared enough about her to give Flack the details of her life because she wouldn't.

"Your older brother Jack," Flack said, having the sense to sound just a little bit sheepish. It was no secret how close Lindsay and Jack were. It was Jack's idea that she go to the city in the first place, and she had blamed him for a while when she came back to Montana with a broken heart. She didn't even want to know how Flack had convinced Jack to give him information on her. Knowing Jack as she did, Lindsay could only think that he must be fully convinced that Flack loved her.

"Listen, Lindsay, I'm sorry that I never went after you. It was a mistake and I'm sorry. As soon as I knew you were going back to Montana I should've followed you and tried to convince you to stay, because--"

Lindsay held up her hand. "No! Don't do this, Flack. I don't want to hear it. It was a long time ago. I don't want to know why you should've come after me."

Flack leaned in closer to her, his eyes darkening with what could be anger or frustration, Lindsay wasn't sure. While she had always prided herself on being able to read him better than other people, sometimes he just escaped her.

"Don't you play that game, Lindsay. It wasn't that long ago. I know you remember, and so do I. I remember like it was yesterday, the way everyone looked at me when they realized I hadn't gone after you. Do you realize that I've been dying a little bit each day since you've been gone? Lindsay, don't look away from me--"

She couldn't stand this. This was not why she had come here, if she had come for any reason at all. Lindsay hated the way Flack looked at her, because desperate was not something he did well. And oh God, why was he _touching_ her? His hand grasped hers, firm and resolute, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. It was almost as if everything in the world had been reduced to that one point of contact.

"Don, don't do this," Lindsay said. She couldn't (wouldn't) have him disrupting the routine she had developed. The routine of get up, eat, work, eat, sleep, and try to forget. It had all been working so well until she came here, until she had a moment of weakness and let him talk to her. She shouldn't have let him do that, that was a mistake. This was all a horrible mistake.

"Lindsay, I love you. Still do. And…what are you doing? Please. Just sit down, and maybe we can talk some more, Linds. C'mon, don't go--"

She wouldn't cry. Lindsay pushed her way through the throngs of officers and the occasional suspect, ignoring Flack as he called after her. She wouldn't cry. This whole visit to the city had been a mistake. Everything had been ruined, and as soon as she got back to her hotel she was going to go online and order a ticket back to Bozeman. She wouldn't cry. The sidewalk offered fresh air and she breathed deeply as she began walking quickly along the pavement, ignoring the people on either side of her. She wouldn't--

"Dammit," Lindsay mumbled as she wiped the tears away from her eyes with the palm of her hand. She hated crying, she really did. What she hated more was crying over someone she had promised herself she would never cry over again.

Sometimes, she told herself, you just have to walk away.


	16. 19 Separation Anxiety

**Title:** Let It Lie  
**Word Count:** 1,751  
** Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
** A/N:** Takes place sort of during 3.14.

**Let It Lie **

_Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.  
-Kahlil Gibran_

January 25th, 2006. Flight NW 521 out of New York LaGuardia Airport at six o'clock p.m. to Minneapolis International Airport at 8:14 p.m., connecting to flight NW 1211 at 9:05 p.m. and arriving in Bozeman around 10:38 p.m.

The plane ticket (one-way) was sitting firmly on the kitchen counter, a symbol that everything she had worked for in the city was falling away. Somehow everything she had wanted—a normal life, a normal working environment, a normal romance—had been turned inside and out. She wondered when everything had been turned around and when she had actually started caring. It was too late, honestly, to care now; she was leaving tomorrow night and it was too damn late to ignore the subpoena summoning her to Bozeman to testify in the trial.

That trial was something she had both wanted and desperately avoided for the past ten years. The thought of law enforcement actually finding the person who had committed the multiple homicide (or even just a suspect in that crime) made Lindsay's stomach unsettled. It had been a traumatic time in her life, she had almost died and why the fuck did it matter, why didn't she want to remember? Why shouldn't she want to go to Montana and put that sonuvabitch away like Don had said? It was because she was too scared, she wasn't strong like Mac suggested as he pulled her into his arms and said goodbye. She had scars and memories and she didn't want to know the faces of those girls again.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the windows that looked out onto the city below. The cars seemed to move into a blur, like those scenes in the movies that only appear for a moment and are gone too soon. Night was coming and the lights were coming on in the city, neon heart and dayglow eyes. She didn't know why she hadn't gone to see Danny like she had the others, she had said goodbye in her own way (she had even signed the card 'Montana' just the way she knew he would like it, their own kind of private hellogoodbye) but it wasn't the same. She wondered if he'd hold it against her.

One, two, three, and four. The knocks on the door were firm and resolute and Lindsay almost wished that she didn't know who it was on the other side, but she did and as she turned and walked through the apartment to open the door she remembered—she hadn't said goodbye to him. There were certain things that Lindsay Monroe didn't want to do, and one of them was face Don Flack, Jr. after she had purposefully not said goodbye to him. _Run, run, run as fast as you can._ Whatever was happening she didn't want to deal with it right now. She was leaving and that was the end of it. _You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread man._

Maybe it was easier that way, for both of them. She unlocked the door and took a deep breath. She didn't want to see him, not now and maybe not ever again. Wasn't that ticket one-way? She didn't have to come back but she knew inside that she would, the city was a part of her now that the country had never been. If she was honest with herself it was mostly his fault.

He had a good couple of inches on her (a whole foot, if she's honest with herself) and while she normally enjoyed looking up at him—because women should always kiss _up_ and men should always kiss _down_—right now his blue eyes looked darker than usual. Not anger but disappointment and sadness and maybe even something else. He looked away as he walked past her into the apartment. She closed the door quietly, locked it again because that had always been a thing with Flack. It's not safe, Monroe, lock your damn doors. She waited for him to speak because while this silence was so heavy it was nearly suffocating her, she wasn't going to break it. She didn't know how.

"You didn't say goodbye to me," he said suddenly, turning to face her. "I saw you with Stella and Mac, giving them hugs and see you when I get back. Even Messer got a fuckin card. We work together, we're partners. Should've said goodbye to _me_, Lindsay."

She leaned back against the wall, all to aware of his eyes on her. What was she supposed to say? "I just thought that it would be better if I didn't say anything to you. You know, this thing between us, it's been there ever since you got back on the job and I haven't wanted to deal with it. Didn't seem like the right time, especially to be saying goodbye."

Since when did she take the coward's way out? Since it became easier than hurting him or herself, since it became easier than facing whatever it was that was growing between them. A slow burn.

"This thing between us," Flack said slowly. He walked over to Lindsay and she tried to press herself into the wall. Too late, she realized it was impossible as he leaned over her and braced his arm against the wall above her head. She wondered why he always seemed so close to her. "So, you were just going to ignore it. Ignore me. Just leave, without saying anything."

Lindsay was careful not to look at him as she whispered a soft acquiescence. The thing was, with Danny it would've been no strings attached because he's all sharp angles and self-destructive tendencies, but with Don it had always been different. She could tell that from the moment they met, and even more so from the moment his hand clutched hers (knuckles turning white, the pain was too much and he just needed to _hold on_) after the nurse said no more morphine, Detective Flack.

"Lindsay…" His voice broke, just a little bit, and she looked up at him. "Tell me why."

"I just…I thought it would be best if I didn't say anything and then I came back, and we could deal with it then. I didn't want to say goodbye because I didn't want to know how much doing so would hurt. Just let it lie, Don."

A sound of derision escaped him and Lindsay felt ashamed. He pulled back so that she could no longer feel the heat of his body on hers, and the clearest surprise was that she missed it. "Let it lie, that's my philosophy. Just let it lie," he said, grinning with awkward misery. Suddenly she really had no idea about what was going on between them. It was supposed to be the man you haven't slept with thing, he was a good guy but they worked together and there were rules about this sort of thing, Lindsay didn't know where the tables had turned. When her telling Flack that he had to wait—no touching, Don, sorry baby but no goodbyes this time around—would make him look so miserable. Was it even possible to feel this much?

"You should probably go, Don," she said, moving away from him and towards the bedroom. What she needed now was to strip down and get into something comfortable, then slip into a deep sleep and forget this had ever happened. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could forget Flack. Before she could move from the room Flack had grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him, his mouth hot on hers. She tried to pull away at first, but he kissed her softer, deeper, until she sighed into his mouth and leaned into him. His hands tangled in Lindsay's hair as they kissed slow and wet in her living room, and the hands that had started exploring his chest stayed there even after they parted.

"See what I did there?" Flack said thickly. "I didn't let it lie."

Her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt weakly. She didn't know what to say to him. Mostly what she wanted to say was Don, leave before we do something we'll regret or maybe Don, thank god you kissed me because I don't want to be alone. The firm pressure of his hands on her hips grounded her, kept her from going off kilter as she whispered his name. All of the other times she had said his name had been different, this time it rolled in on the aftershock of a kiss that had created supernovas behind her eyelids.

"Don," she said again, raising her voice to above a whisper. She wasn't sure that he had heard her, and besides, that whisper sounded weak and wanting.

"Checked out your ticket as soon as Hawkes said you were leaving," he cut in. "I know it's one-way, and I know I shouldn't have any say because it's just a kiss and it's only ever been wanting, but I'd really appreciate it if you came back." Flack paused a moment and finished, "I'd like that a lot."

His words remind Lindsay of what she said to Danny a few months ago, about how she had things to work out for herself and how she liked him (she liked him a lot) but she couldn't be in a relationship with him. Now, she was never a casually cruel person but she has to admit that she never felt the least bit remorseful about turning Danny down. They were never meant to be and he's just not her type, he's cute but all sharp angles and she knew then just as she knows now that he would break her heart and not even realize it.

But Flack, Lindsay realizes, is very different from her fellow CSI; they may be best friends and partners, but they are just not the same in so many ways. Tomorrow night Lindsay will head out alone on a plane and hope for the best. In her life, in the trial, and in this relationship with Don. It's too new to define anything yet, she could never say what it is for sure. Not now. It was something important, though, that when she was flying several thousand miles above the ground and far away from home that she would have someone waiting for her when she returned.

She let her hand fall into his as she said, "I'd like that too, Don. I really would."

FIN.  
1/27.


	17. 21 Rationalization

**Title: **The Trick is to Keep Breathing  
**Word Count:** 893  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**A/N:** Takes place during 3.24, "Snow Day".

**The Trick is to Keep Breathing**

He picked up his cellphone and answered, without a second thought, mostly because he wasn't expecting any bad news. He was going to get called out to a scene most likely, or Stella would be calling him about the case they had worked just last week. That case had been a hard one, all sharp corners and harsh reminders about why they worked this job in the first place and how difficult it could be, how real the victims and their plights were. He had always liked working cases with Stella, he thought absentmindedly, and he might like to ask her on a date someday; he knew that she hadn't been on a date since Frankie, and he hadn't been on date since Lindsay (not that anyone knew about that, particulary Danny, because when it came to telling the truth to Dan, Flack's fight or flight response was heavily weighted towards flight).

"Flack," he said.

"Hey," came the voice on the other line. Shaky, full of doubt, desperate. "It's, uh, it's Messer."

He stood up, fully on his guard now because all of those adjectives he had just used to describe the voice on the phone, Danny's voice, were not like Danny at all. Something was wrong—

"Danny, are you okay?"

"We've got a situation, man."

After this sentence, he was able to discover quickly that Danny and Adam were caught in the middle of a hostage situation, the Irish wanted their drugs back and their men, and it was hard for him not to feel responsible. Only this morning had he conducted the bust that had caused all this, doing his job and proud of it, and it was a fleeting thought right before the press conference that Flack found himself thinking, maybe Lindsay will see this, see how good I did today, maybe just maybe. But he knew that Lindsay wasn't a woman who dwelt on maybe's and what might have been's, she knew what she want and she wanted Messer.

He could rationalize it, he suppose, use logic to determine why she wanted Danny and not himself. But there was no use torturing himself over it; their relationship was over, and had been for some time. She had moved on to someone new, and he couldn't blame her for the fact that he just…hadn't.

He had a job to do now, rescue Danny and Adam, arrest the members of the Irish mob responsible for this mess, so it was time to forget Lindsay—she had nothing to do with all of this. Keep on task, he reminded himself; she had distracted himself for far too long. Let go, there was beauty in the breakdown.

Briefly, as Flack drove to the warehouse he had raided earlier, where Danny and Adam were being held hostage, he wondered what would happen if everything didn't go as planned. If, for instance, he wasn't able to save them. He shouldn't be thinking that, it wasn't something he'd normally do, but in the last year everything has gone to hell. Aiden, that just might be the worst of it. Nobody had seen that coming. Sure, she had been fired and she had broken all the rules—gone dirty, tampered with evidence, nearly planted it, but that didn't change the fact that she was Aiden and would never be anything but. They all loved her, in their own way, sister lover coworker friend. So many ways, so many losses.

Then there was Louie, which belonged mostly to Danny, but the aftermath of that clustefuck belonged to the whole team. Mostly to him, being the kid's best friend. The way Danny would clench up, bottle it all in and then screw himself over by letting it all out in the worst way possible. And Stella, well, that was the team's too, but mostly Mac. Hell, whenever Mac looked at Stella there was something in his eyes that Flack didn't know how to place, so he didn't even try. It was a mix between a few things he had never felt except when he was with Lindsay, and some he had never felt altogether.

"What can we do," he muttered. "Ain't nothing."

Few minutes after he got to the scene, Lindsay gets there too. He didn't bother to place the emotion in her eyes, the worry, the desperation. She was supposed to be in that warehouse, not Danny, but he didn't want to think about that—it would be a whole can of worms that he didn't want opened. It would remind him of things he didn't want to be reminded of. Whispered promises, kisses, late nights and what was one more secret just between them?

He would try to think that she was there for him. Worried, perhaps, that he would offer to trade himself for Danny and Adam (something he was planning on doing, if he was honest), that he would get wounded. That was it, to be sure, the only reason she would come down here when she could be safe in her apartment away from this mess. He wasn't fooling himself, Flack thought, because he was level-headed enough to know that it was over. He was just giving himself the only reason why she could be here. It had to be the only reason, because he couldn't bear Lindsay worrying that way about anyone else.


End file.
